Allison's Portrait
by Poppy471
Summary: Allison's art is everything to her... Then it is torn away. Rated M for a single sexual abuse incident, drug use, other adult situations.
1. Terrence

**Allison's Portrait**

_Author's note: This story revolves around a single incident of sexual abuse. Please take care of yourself and do not read it if it will overly distress you._

**Chapter One**

**Terrence**

The alarm clock ricochets off the dresser. It's 6:30 and Allison Reynolds is starting her day as usual: with an assault on the clock. She shuffles down to the kitchen wrapped in a blanket. Coffee is already made, her father having risen and left for the University medical school before her entrance. She dumps a pile of powdered creamer into her cup, carefully mixes it in without making lumps, ending up with coffee reduced to a fawn color. Sipping the creamy coffee, she makes her way back up the carpeted stairs. She pauses on the landing, looking out the circular window onto the manicured back lawn. She likes the garden gnomes, her father's covert (and ugly) contribution to the elaborate landscaping her mother chose. Her taste always was atrocious. She's glad her mother got the hideous Cadillac in the divorce settlement. She's glad her mother is gone. Period. Booze, pills, lovers...

Back upstairs, she navigates her messy room to put Purple Rain on the turntable and gets under the black duvet on her bed. Her coffee is a necessity to endure such early rising. "Let's Go Crazy" wakes her up enough to get in the shower. By the time "When Doves Cry" starts, she is ready to get dressed. It's a pretty ridiculous album, but it suits her mood this morning. She throws on a dark gray top and black skirt from her crumpled pile of clean laundry at the foot of her bed.

Rummaging through the kitchen cupboard, pushing aside herbal tea and stale cereal, she finds the poptarts. Cinnamon, as always. She squishes the second poptart on top of the first, spread with peanut butter, and is ready to leave for school. She sets the house alarm, juggling keys and poptart sandwich. Once on Lakewood Avenue, she enjoys the thick dew and cool air as she nibbles her sandwich. Huge oaks enclose the row of Victorian houses. Her favorite is the peeling white one, which has a turret. Her mother always complained about it, saying, "It brings down the property value." She likes to imagine candelabra and thick dust on mahogany furniture inside. A bit like Nosferatu, but in a Victorian interpretation.

As she nears school, her mood plummets.

That day in detention seemed so promising. As if she might actually have friends after all. Although Andy was not what she envisioned for her first boyfriend, she'd always enjoyed the unexpected and perverse. She'd been touched by his insistent kindness, his refusal to be rebuffed. It seemed as though what she said meant something to him. He did not ignore her, even when she begged him to leave her alone. The all-star patch gave her unanticipated pleasure also, though she couldn't say why. She still has it, buried under the junk on her dresser.

She sighs.

That had lasted all of two days. He'd been cool on Monday morning, his hand so limp in her own that she dropped it immediately. No hand-holding then. Next he ignored her wave in the cafeteria, went to sit with the jocks. At his locker, at the end of the day, he'd dodged eye contact. He didn't even have the balls to actually tell her she wasn't his girlfriend.

"Fuck you, Andrew Clark!" and she'd regally exited, nose in the air. The other jocks laughed but she had her dignity. She wouldn't be trampled down by such a boy. Because he was a boy, unable to think for himself, caving in to pressure... from his father, from the jocks, from the rich activities people. She doesn't regret their kiss. It was a nice first kiss. He turned out to be a shit, but it was a very nice kiss. She's philosophical about these things.

Seeing him every day in homeroom, though... not the best way to start her day. She flounces to her usual seat in the back corner and erects her REM album as a barrier between herself and the rest of the class. National Geographic had an article on Mongolia. They herd camels there, and serve testicle soup. There would be no Andrew Clark in Mongolia... She daydreams until the bell dismisses them to their first class.

Biology is good today. She has an entire fetal pig to herself because no one will be her lab partner. Exploring the convolutions of the intestines, observing the browns and grays of the internal organs, the liver a smooth, rounded wedge behind the stomach, the gall bladder pinched up in its place, it is all interesting to her. She seems to be the only one who thinks so. The girls are all cringing and the boys are not much better. She is surrounded by children.

Claire, dressed in one of her usual stylish pink outfits, is in the front of class, making a din over the formaldehyde smell. She always was squeamish. She never let on, not even in detention, that they had known each other in Sunday school class for years, and that their mothers were close friends. Their mothers went to the same Episcopal church, the "right" one. Allison didn't talk much more there than she does in school now. The teachers, however, would get annoyed with Allison's occasional questions, especially when she asked about the Garden of Eden. If women were made of Adam's rib, why did everyone have the same number of ribs now? And why was Eve more guilty than Adam? Eve at least was tempted by someone a bit more eloquent and convincing. Claire, on the other hand, always knew the correct readings by heart and said her prayers in an ostentatiously pious way. But, yeah, very squeamish. When another girl fell and hit her head on the corner of the slide, Claire had vomited at the sight of blood. Allison can't imagine Claire will do any better today.

Look, there she goes, she's fainted.

Claire's rejection was not unexpected. Bender had called her a bitch and she had cried, but she never said she'd change. And she hadn't. She'd ignored Allison's Monday morning greeting without the bat of an eye.

Next is trig with Brian. She's glad he hasn't rejected her. He talks about grades too much, but he also helps her with her math problems. Monday at lunch, after being ignored by both Andy and Claire, she catches Brian's discreet signal. He'd probably seen Andy turn away from her, but he never mentioned it. Since then, she has sat at the geek table. Eating lunch with him and his friends is okay too. It's nice, to have a place where she is accepted, an improvement over pre-detention days when she dined alone. She fits in as Brian's weirdo friend. He is considered a worldly man among his friends, having a cousin who does drugs and having kissed a girl in Niagara Falls. Allison doesn't let on the reality of the Niagara Falls story. He enjoys it so much, and she'd never crush his reputation. Anyway, the sophisticated Brian is allowed to have strange artistic friends. She suspects it adds to his mystique.

Today the caf is serving meatloaf and potatoes. Allison brings her tray to join the guys at their usual table. She drinks the carton of milk unadulterated, but pours pixie stix over her potatoes. The meatloaf becomes abstract sculpture. She finishes her creation with green beans speared by a fork. She imagines the upthrust fork proudly standing in a corporate plaza in downtown Chicago. Then an unwanted memory flashes through her mind. She savagely attacks the food and reduces it to mush.

The guys have been talking about Latin club. Brian, laughing so hard he can barely speak, says "Ubi o ubi est meus sub ubi?"

The other guys find this hysterical, Lester snorting milk. Brian is in danger of sliding under the table.

She doesn't understand the joke but their laughter cheers her up a bit. It's nice to know someone is having a good time.

* * *

After lunch, Allison decides to skip history and heads down to the soccer field and the bleachers. She has her sketch book and pens and she thinks maybe she'll try to start a sketch of the sycamore tree that stands at the other end of the soccer field. She settles herself beneath the bleachers, looking out at her tree. But she can't bring herself to make a mark on her blank paper. She sits there, lost in unhappy thought, gazing at the spreading tree.

Then she smells marijuana. She turns. It's Bender. He has lit a joint and is walking towards the bleachers. She feels too inert to get up, to leave, so she just sits there, watching him approach. She hasn't seen him up close since detention, weeks ago.

He notices her as he ducks under the seats. They can't avoid acknowledging each other. She gives a wan smile. He returns it with a deep scowl.

She cautiously greets him with a squeaky "Hi."

His scowl deepens and he coolly observes "It's you."

She nods. What other reply can she make?

"I saw you... before Saturday detention. At the art school place." This statement is not friendly, more like a confrontation. She nods again.

"You were with that teacher, last time I saw you there. You seemed to be getting along pretty well," he says with heavy sarcasm. She remembers that day. She knows exactly which day he is talking about.

All of it comes back to her as Bender looks at her with disgust.

"_Come here, Allison," Terrence had said, and showed her out the side door. "You'll need to learn how to stretch canvasses for yourself, all serious painters do so." _

_She had preceded her teacher down the alley and into the tiny courtyard that was sided by a ratty loft apartment building and the blank walls of two other warehouses. She expected to go up the cement stairs to the rear entrance to the warehouse space. Instead, she'd suddenly found herself backed into a corner of the rough concrete wall. Terrence barred her exit with a palm against the wall, his extended arm trapping her there. She pulled back, away from his changed expression. His face was approaching hers. She looked for an escape and found none. She was hemmed in on all sides. He was so close. So close she could feel his heat, smell linseed oil on him. He fumbled beneath her t-shirt, his hand against her bare skin. His knee shoved its way between her legs. _

_Just then, Bender had come rattling down the stairs from the upper apartment that shared the courtyard, stuffing a suspicious baggie into his pants pocket. She had frozen there as he looked at the pair of them. Bender paused just a moment, then shrugged and kept going, out of the courtyard and into the alley. With Terrence's advance arrested by Bender's appearance, she had pushed the distracted Terrence away and ducked down beneath his arm, bolting for the alley. Ignoring the stares of the other students, she snatched her bag and ran out and kept running until she could run no more. _

"You know he's married, don't you?" Bender accuses.

"No, it wasn't like that, he said he'd show me... I didn't want..." she trails off, in anguish.

"He'd show you what?" His voice is dripping contempt. "What did you not want? You looked pretty close and comfy back there."

"NO! He tricked me, said he would show me how to stretch canvasses. Then he sort of trapped me, I wanted to get away but his arm was there." Tears start trickling down her cheeks. "If you hadn't come down then, he would have... I don't know what would have happened. I got away because you distracted him."

"Got away?" He seems to be considering this new interpretation of events. "You mean you didn't want to be there?"

"No, I didn't." She's crying harder now, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "He told me he'd take me to the back work room, where they stretch the canvasses. He told me all painters do it. He told me he'd show me how to do it, how to stretch a canvass. Then he... then he trapped me there. I couldn't leave, I couldn't move." She heaves great shuddering sobs, then tries to get herself under control.

"He tricked me," she repeats.

Bender rummages around in his coat pocket and comes out with a bandanna and uncertainly offers it. It is crushed and linty, and smells of marijuana. She puts it against her mouth, her face screwed up in pain at the memory of her helplessness.

"That sucks. I mean... what an asshole." He tries putting a hand on her shoulder, pats her. His awkward compassion helps. Her tears are slowing down and she blows her nose.

"And my painting is still there." Although she wonders if she wants it back, it seems tainted. She'd been so peaceful and content there, with a place to work. She had felt like a vessel channeling beauty from the world onto her canvass. Her paintings never lived up to her ideas, but chasing the beauty was, in itself, part of the beauty. Terrence had been encouraging, but was that real? Did he just want to gain her trust, his goal to corner her out there, take advantage of her? Because that's what he did, took advantage of her trust.

She's starting to feel pissed off. Terrence destroyed something for her. Dammit, she will get that painting back.

Bender seems to sense this change in mood, gives her one more pat. She blows her nose again.

"Thank you, Bender," she says and extends the bandanna to him.

She says, "Yuck," upon noticing all the snot. "Sorry, it's a mess now."

He gingerly takes it by the corner, evidently unsure what to do next. They both look at the crumpled cloth glistening with mucous. She finds a loose piece of paper in her purse and enfolds the bandanna in it, hands it over. He looks doubtful.

"You can wash it," she encourages him. He stows it in the pocket of his voluminous coat, still looking dubious.

She looks up at him.

"Thank you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for believing me."

He scrunches his shoulders up, looking very uncomfortable. Taking pity on his embarrassment, she punches his arm. Pretty hard.

"Hey, what was that for?"

"For making fun of Brian."

"That was weeks ago!" He's indignant.

She elbows him. "You still deserve it," she says.

Her sideways look tells her he has recovered his ordinary demeanor. She sets off across the field, away from the school, leaving him re-lighting his joint.

* * *

She decides to ditch the rest of the day. On her way home, she contemplates Bender. So he'd thought that about her all this time. She's glad she cured him of that misconception. That was actually the first time she has told anyone about Terrence.

The day Terrence had trapped her in the courtyard, she'd come home in tears to an empty house. Curling in a ball on her bed, she tried to force the incident out of her mind. But it kept coming back. How he smelled, the feeling of his hand under her shirt, the expression on his face. Her clothes smelled of linseed oil too, like his. She jumped up out of her fetal position and tore off her clothes. Her hands smelled of it, her hair smelled of it. Showering didn't seem to help, she smelled it everywhere. She dove under her covers but she couldn't escape the memory. It played out in her mind over and over again. She put on the Violent Femmes, loud, trying to drown out all sensation. When the album was over, she had calmed down. But the image of his face, the feeling of his hand, come to her at random times, fresh and painful as that first day.

And since then she hasn't been able to paint, or sketch, or even doodle in class.


	2. Art Thief

**Chapter Two **

**Art Thief**

Her talk with Bender activated an anger she had not felt before. She wakes up angry, can't locate the source immediately, then remembers. Terrence, Bender, the painting she'd left behind. The self portrait was almost done. She'd used blue undertones in the shadows to bring out her pale complexion and the black of her hair. There was no background, just her face and hair filling the small canvass to the frame. She'd tried to create a dark glow. It did not match what she saw in her head, but it came close.

Moving through her morning routine, she thinks about that painting, resting against an easel in the art school's main room. It is a small, square canvass, 18 inches on a side. She can see its precise location, about halfway down the row of easels. The irony is that she'd needed a special size canvass to capture what her inner eye saw, and Terrence had stretched this canvass for her. But that doesn't matter, it is her own thing, it belongs to her. She has put her mark on it and it cannot be taken away.

On her walk to school, her anger takes a shape. She wants her painting back and she will get it. After classes she can get to the art school, quickly slip in, grab the painting and slip out. Today is the figure drawing class. She wouldn't be alone, there would be others, witnesses. She wants what's hers. She thinks about Bender's switchblade, rejects the idea of the blade as protection. She couldn't imagine using it on another human being. But she has a can of pepper spray.

She is preoccupied during morning classes. What if it isn't there, where she left it. Surely another student had taken her place. Where would it be? In back, behind the main room where the supplies are kept? Or in the rear work space accessible only through the courtyard? It is unthinkable the painting would not be there at all. It must be there. It has to be there.

At lunch she unthinkingly eats the cafeteria burger and fries as is, not doctored with hot pepper sauce or pixie stix or peanut butter. She buses her tray, her mind on her painting. Out in the hallway, she becomes aware of someone calling her name.

"Allison! Hey, Al!" He finally has her attention. It is Bender. What could John Bender possibly want? They are in the corridor outside the caf. A few kids walk past without noticing the two of them. He looks uncharacteristically serious.

"Are you okay?" He's giving her his undivided attention. She looks at him, not understanding.

"Umm, yesterday? Are you okay now?" He means her outburst of crying.

"Yes, I'm fine," she lies. She's burning with impotent rage actually, now that she consults her inner self. But why has he done this, gone out of his way to ask her this?

His gravity retreats. He gives her a friendly slap on the back, seemingly satisfied, and walks off, leaving her confused. She thinks about this interchange as she makes her way to history class. It seems a strange thing for Bender to do, but she did sort of lose it yesterday.

This only distracts her from her anger for a little while, though. The rest of the day passes in a red haze. She hurries from her last class, throwing her books into her locker without regard for her homework assignments, leaving them all behind. Homework is irrelevant at this point. She checks her purse for her pepper spray. The label says it can shoot ten feet. So if Terrence gets anywhere near her with violent intentions, she can hit him, no problem.

She employs her bus ride to rehearse her game plan. Through the front door, straight back to the supply room, look through the painting storage racks. There are racks for the smaller paintings against the back wall. It is farther into the room than she really likes, but that is where her painting should be. There are usually about 8 or 10 paintings stored back there at a time, so it should be easy to flip through the upright paintings quickly. She doesn't know what she will do if it is not there. She'll keep her pepper spray in hand at all times, and just hope it is there.

Sooner than she expects, she is in front of the school. It is a former garage, painted a jaunty yellow and red combination, and surrounded by other refurbished warehouses, garages and lofts. She enters the front door and passes through the gallery area straight back into the garage portion of the building. Partitioned off by large canvass screens is the studio space, and yes, there is a nude model class. The students have their easels gathered in a semicircle around the male model. She walks purposefully behind them, making a beeline for the storage room. So far, no Terrence. Through the fabric hung doorway, into an area permeated with the light, piney smell of turpentine. She knows that further back, against the left wall is the entrance to the business office, a little closet of a room where accounts are kept and where Terrence is sometimes to be found. On the right are the row of sinks and a paint-spattered work counter. Straight back, pepper spray in hand, she goes directly for the raw pine painting rack. Now she is flipping through the paintings quickly. Aha, here is hers . She lifts it out with one hand, never forgetting her pepper spray, turns to leave. Turns right into Terrence, so close she stumbles. He must have been in the office. His normally urbane expression is gone from his face. His look is cold and focused, as he had looked in the courtyard, when he had his hands on her. She is more frightened than she had expected. She had forgotten that cold look, inhuman, like a snake's eyes.

Her right hand comes up, pepper spray ready, and she backs away, then begins edging towards the exit. He doesn't say anything, just approaches.

"Don't," she stutters. She holds the spray at shoulder height.

"Now Allison, you don't want to do that," he says in a pleasant voice. With those eyes. She backs into the sinks, begins sliding along them, towards the doorway. She's halfway there.

"You're so close, the spray will get you too. You don't want to use that in here, in a confined space." He's right, the instructions said to hold the spray in front of you away from your body, and spray directly ahead. She wonders if the students could hear her from this distance. This room suddenly feels huge.

"I'll tell. I'll tell my parents. I'll say what you did to me." She feels like jelly.

"I'm a well respected man in the art community," he continues in his smooth tone, "and sometimes little girls get carried away with crushes."

No! He can't do this! She wracks her brain. She must have something she can do or say. She's halfway down the sinks now, closer and closer to the studio area.

"You can't prove anything." He is smug in his certainty.

He's right, there were no windows, no other people around. She didn't say anything at the time, so why would she suddenly say something now? Who would believe her?

Bender! Bender was there, Bender saw what happened! She feels a little chink, hope is seeping through.

"You're wrong. Someone saw us. Someone was there." Closer and closer to the doorway.

She sees a slip in his expression. He is wondering now. He has probably done this with lots of girls, how would he remember that particular day?

"Someone came down from those apartments. I know him. He saw what you were doing to me."

She bumps into a shelving unit, almost there. She carefully clicks the pepper spray safety on, finally backs through the fabric shrouding the doorway. She stows the spray, turns and runs. Students look up with curiosity, but she is glad, glad to be out where other people can see her. She slides on the slippery wooden floors but keeps her feet under her. Then the concrete floor of the gallery, more traction, and out the door. And she has her painting! She is out, she has what she came for, her treasure is with her, unharmed. She looks back at the red door. He is standing there, his arms folded, watching her escape.

* * *

Luckily her painting is so small it is not awkward on the bus home. She finally mounts the steps to her family's Victorian house on Lakewood Avenue. It is not until she reaches her room upstairs that she believes it is true. She got it. It is hers again. That is one less thing he has stolen from her.

She wishes she had someone to celebrate with.


	3. Heavy Metal Vomit Party

**Chapter Three**

**Heavy Metal Vomit Party**

She's walking towards the bleachers, aiming for her usual short cut through the soccer field.

"Al! Allison!" It's Bender again, calling her name.

He's with a couple of his heavy metal friends; they are obviously going to hang out under the bleachers and smoke marijuana. Bender peels off from the group and comes her way.

"Hey Al," he says, catching up. He is clearly happy to see her. She is not used to this, people being happy to see her.

"Come burn one with us." He seems to think this is likely to happen. And why not? Everyone thinks she is a druggie anyway. Last she heard, according to the gossip in the girls' bathroom, she is a heroin addict. She _is_ curious, having never seen marijuana. She turns back with him. In the dim coolness under the bleachers, she sees a couple of guys waiting for Bender. One is dressed in the skinniest jeans she has ever seen, and a leather jacket jangling with metal zippers and pulls. His long hair is black and shiny. The other has combat boots and a Metallica concert t-shirt, which is pretty cool looking, now that she sees it up close.

"Dylan, Cody, this is Allison."

They look doubtfully at him.

"No, she's alright, don't worry."

They continue with their skeptical expressions.

"C'mon, really, does she LOOK like a narc to you?"

Her purple striped socks, Converse high tops and layers of black and gray must convince them. They visibly relax.

Cody nods and she gets a quiet "Hey," from Dylan.

She watches with interest as Bender pulls out his baggie and starts rolling a joint. He's quite dexterous. He lights it and sucks in a huge amount of smoke, passes it to her. She cautiously inhales a tiny bit and immediately starts coughing. She tries again and manages to hold it for a moment before exploding into coughing again. She passes it, watches as Dylan with the skinny jeans takes a professional looking pull on it, passes it on. Cody of the combat boots is likewise skilled at inhaling. After Bender, it comes around to her again and she is just as unsuccessful, mainly coughing. The guys start laughing when this happens. They can't seem to stop.

"No no no, do it like this," Dylan demonstrates. She shakes her head. Twice was enough. Cody finds this especially funny, grabs Bender's shoulder to support himself in his hilarity. The third time around she just passes it. It gets to Bender and it is too tiny to hold without burning his fingers. He snuffs it and tucks it away in his jean jacket. She wonders why he keeps such a tiny bit of a joint.

Cody seems to be the clown, and he is telling a story about someone named Nikki. But it's all about people she doesn't know and places she's never been, so she rests her arms on her knees and watches. Dylan thinks to offer her a cigarette, but she shakes her head again. Bender is stretched out, propped on his elbows, smiling. His face is not hard and sarcastic as it was during their detention. So she is hanging out with his heavy metal vomit party friends. They seem pretty nice. And Bender isn't ignoring her the way Claire said he would.

She is suddenly curious about what happened with Bender and Claire. Had she ignored Bender the way she had ignored Allison? He was right, when he said she couldn't ignore him if she tried. But did she pretend he wasn't there, or that she didn't know him? She wants to ask about this.

Cody is now trying to do some trick with his cigarette that involves him putting the ember end inside his mouth. She doesn't get why someone would want to do this. Dylan seems pretty absorbed in watching Cody, so she asks quietly, "How is Claire?"

Bender's open, amused expression hardens.

"Why are you asking me?"

Allison is sorry she asked. She shrugs. "I thought..." She sees his face and doesn't go on.

"Well, you thought wrong." An even harder expression. "I might as well ask you where Andy is."

She hunches down. She gets his point.

Then they are all getting up. Dylan needs to get home and Cody wants a burger. The group splits up and Allison crosses the soccer field alone.

When she gets home, she is inspired to rearrange her room. After much pushing and tugging, things are positioned the way she wants them. She can see out the window from her bed. Her painting takes place of pride, propped up against the wall on top of her dresser. It is the focus of the room now. She flops back into her bed to admire her handiwork. But somehow the painting doesn't make her happy. It is her treasure, a part of who she is. But it also makes her think of Terrence, of his hand on her skin, of his cold stare. She takes the painting down and faces it against the wall in the corner she can't see from her bed.

* * *

She hopes her father will get home early tonight. She fixes herself a frozen dinner... lasagna with hot sauce. He is always at the medical school, doing whatever it is he does there. He often doesn't get home til 8 or 9 and then has paperwork to do. Before he got this promotion, they would have dinner together most nights. That was before the divorce. Now Allison eats alone usually. She feels like a baby for this, but she wishes her father would ask her how school was in the evenings. But these days he is immersed in his papers even while he eats dinner and she is left to watch TV or listen to the radio by herself, with a kiss on the forehead when she goes upstairs to bed.

She doesn't know if she would have told her father about Terrence. But she would have liked the option.

* * *

"Al!"

Allison is surprised once more when she hears Bender calling her name. She's heading for the soccer field again, her usual way home.

"Allison! Hey," he calls. Cody and Dylan are with him, and they look like they are going to the bleachers again.

"C'mon, I want you to show Dylan something."

This is odd. What on earth could she show to Dylan?

But she turns back and ducks down under the bleachers. Cody is already drawing on a joint, but Dylan is looking expectantly at her.

Bender explains, "Dylan wants to see my switchblade."

She finds it funny that they both still think of it as his switchblade, but that it is natural she is the one who possesses it. She pulls it from an inner pocket of her purse and holds it up.

"You carry a stiletto to school?" Dylan asks, wide-eyed.

"Open it," Bender suggests.

She slides the safety and presses the button. It makes that wonderful sound that only a switchblade can make. She is always surprised with what force it snaps open. She unlocks the blade and carefully closes it. She hands it to Dylan. Dylan reverently accepts it.

"Can I?" he asks with his thumb on the button. He looks between Allison and Bender, unsure whose permission he needs. They both nod and smile in expectation of his pleasure.

It is like dual custody of a child, she thinks.

The knife snicks open again. They show him how to unlock the blade, close it, put on the safety. He opens and closes it several times, a look of delight on his face. Finally he holds it out towards them, again unsure who to return it to. Allison, after a quick exchange of looks, accepts it and tucks it away in her bag.

"That is too cool, man," Cody chimes in. "And no one would ever think to search _you_!"

Allison doesn't like the drift of this conversation. She gets up and makes ready to leave.

"Where ya going, Al?" Bender asks. He seems surprised she intends to leave.

"Home," she responds.

"Come on over to Dylan's with us." Bender seems comfortable making invitations to a third person's house.

"Yeah," and "Come with us," Cody and Dylan encourage in chorus.

There is nothing for her at home. An absent father and some really bad memories she can't shake. Dylan's house has to be better.

She acquiesces.

Dylan's house is on the other side of Shermer from her own. It is on a slightly run down street, but there are signs of happy tenancy... childrens bicycles in the front yards, white washed tires spilling over with flowers, sheets billowing on a clothes line. Dylan's house is a large white two story clapboard with some stunted rosebushes out front and two of the ubiquitous kids' bikes. A pair of little girls in bathing suits are squealing and jumping through the spray of a rotating sprinkler.

Dylan's mother is in the large kitchen tending a spaghetti pot. She is a short, round, capable looking woman quite a few years older than Allison's own mother.

Bender snags a clean glass from the dish drainer and pours some milk without asking. He seems to recollect himself and offers Allison some. She accepts it as she shyly greets Dylan's mother.

"You can call me Miss Rose," and her eyes crinkle as she smiles. "I bet you're hungry."

Allison finds that she is indeed hungry.

Being set upon by a swarm of ravenous teenagers seems to be the norm here. Cody is poking at the spaghetti sauce and Dylan is hanging up his leather jacket on a long row of coat-filled hooks. Bender leans against the far counter finishing his glass of milk. Allison briefly wonders what the rest of Shermer High would think seeing these tough guys ensconced in domesticity like this. She had never thought of Bender as milk-drinking person. She doesn't know why. Maybe because it seems like such a wholesome thing to do...

Miss Rose counts out a stack of plates and hands them to Allison, to her surprise.

"Put those out, honey. Cody, get the silverware. There are seven tonight. Dylan, tell the girls to get in here and put on some clothes. They can't eat in bathing suits."

The dinner passes in a wash of warmth for Allison. She's never eaten with so many people at once. Everyone is talking and everyone seems _happy_. After helping to clean up (she is enrolled in drying dishes) the guys adjourn to the front porch. It is dusk now. She wonders if her father will be home any time soon. Probably not. She feels no obligation to phone home. But she does wonder how she will get back home when it is time to go. It would be a very long walk. Dylan has thought of that. When it is full dark, he gets the keys to the battered family station wagon. All four of them pile in, Allison riding in the coveted shotgun position. The upholstery is cracked and wisps of foam padding leak out. They cruise into the towering oaks of Lakewood Avenue. Cody seems impressed by her neighborhood in general and by her house in particular. She hates being the poor little rich girl, but she would gladly trade with Dylan any day.

Not long after she locks the door and re-sets the house alarm, her father comes home. It must be past 9. Their house seems cold and hollow. She is bursting with the desire to tell her father all about her amazing evening, but he immediately starts arraying paperwork on the dining room table. He absently accepts her hug, then puts on his reading glasses, his mind never having left the burden of the work he's brought home with him. Allison goes to her bedroom and prepares to sleep, feeling sad and empty. A glance at the painting in the corner makes her feel no better.


	4. Strays

**Chapter Four**

**Strays**

Allison tries not to look at the painting in the morning. She had wanted to repossess it so badly but now it is a reminder of Terrence. She thinks about stuffing it in the closet, but somehow that seems wrong, so she leaves it facing the wall. The images of Terrence seem to be getting worse, coming to her whenever her mind is idle.

She sighs. More school. She feels sluggish, not up to all the bustle, paying attention in class, dealing with people. She considers cutting school entirely. But no, she has missed too much school already this week. It is Friday.

Her energy continues to flag. Finally school is through and she is at her locker, packing her bag with the books she'll need over the weekend. When she fastens the padlock and turns, she is not surprised to find Bender at her elbow. It is as if he has decided she is part of the group and that popping up and carting her off after school is routine.

Today he says, "Dylan has the car and we're going to the lake. Wanna come?"

The idea of more interaction with people, of activity, of the need to respond to others overwhelms her. She shakes her head, exhausted.

"C'mon Al, it's a perfect day. Cody's brother got us some beer."

"No! I said No. What part of 'No' do you not understand?"

Bender recoils in surprise. But now he seems more worried than mad.

"Al, what's wrong?"

"Leave me alone. I'm tired and..." She doesn't know how to say what else she is. Raw, sensitive, irritable.

"I'm tired," she repeats. "I need to go home."

"OK, OK. Do you want a ride? We could swing by your house."

"No! Just leave me alone, OK? I'm not one of the guys. You need to go away."

She doesn't care if she is hurting him or disappointing him. She doesn't care she is pushing him away.

He seems angry for a moment, then she senses something like resignation or pity. She can't expend the energy to decipher it.

"OK, Al, I'll go."

She wanted him to go away, but now she feels so alone. The empty house, her father getting home so late, that damn painting, Terrence everywhere she turns.

"No, don't go. Bender... I'm sorry. I'm just tired. Yeah, I'd like to come to the lake, but I want to be quiet for a while." She might be tired and annoyed and overwhelmed, but it is better than thinking about Terrence.

"How late will we be?"

"Dylan has to have the car back by midnight."

She climbs out of her funk long enough to be amused that such a tough, wild, rebellious looking guy has a curfew.

"I'll need to call my dad."

They stop by Dylan's, where she calls home and leaves a quick message on the machine. Bender gets Cody to sit in the front seat with him, leaving the back seat to her, for which she is grateful. Cody is the most energetic and least sensitive person she knows. She knows she's in a rotten mood, so she tries to moderate her judgments.

* * *

When she wakes up, the sun is setting. She has a fuzzy memory of someone covering her with Bender's herringbone coat. It is quiet. She must have been asleep for almost three hours.

It is a beautiful, flaming sunset, reflected off the lake. The wind makes her skirt flap. She sees the guys down by the water, on a small spit of sand emerging from some brush. She's left Bender's coat in the car. She's cold, but the coat is giant, she would be entirely engulfed by it. She walks down the beach to join them. Cody has his pants rolled up. Only Cody would be crazy enough to get wet in this cold breeze. He sees her first, comes bounding up as if he is going to tackle her, but seems to realize she's a girl at the last minute. She can't help but laugh. Then he's running back down. He's shouting something she can't hear. The other two turn, and Bender motions her toward the bit of land they are standing on. On the beach, the enormous sun is sinking in great diagonal stripes of clouds lit up a clear, fiery orange with a burning reflection on the waves of the lake. She gazes up and shivers. Bender beckons again and she clears the brush that has been obstructing the eastern sky. The hugest moon she has ever seen is rising. She's never seen anything like it. It is tinged a clear pink. Or is it orange? The craters stand out distinctly, making it even more unreal. Dylan is saying something about the moon illusion and angles, but his words are snatched away by the wind. It was his idea to come see this conjunction. Bender sees her clutching her elbows with cold, takes off his jean jacket and gives it to her. Cody offers her a beer, but she can't stomach beer 10 minutes after waking up. They admire the spectacle in the sky until the sun is down and the west is dusky purple. They retreat to the car. The moon is still beautiful but a more normal size as it rises.

All four of them manage to squeeze into the front seat. Dylan and Allison are foregoing intoxicants, so the beer and marijuana are confined to Bender and Cody. Cody exuberantly declares "More for us!"

Dylan is excited about the moon illusion he mentioned earlier, and solstices and angles, but it is too deep for the rest of the crew and he trails off, evidently enjoying his own thoughts on the topic. Cody has launched into another story, this time about Anders. Everybody agrees he's a trip. Allison is getting sleepy again.

They wake her when they are ready to leave. She is a bit embarrassed to find she had been sleeping curled against Bender's shoulder. She crawls into the back again, covered with the herringbone coat. She wakes up half way home. Even Cody is quiet. She realizes she hasn't thought about Terrence all night. She must have been sleeping so much today because her nights have been restless lately.

She's home by 11:30. (Miss Rose tolerates no funny business about curfews.) The lights are on so her father must be up.

When she opens the front door, her father immediately greets her with "Where have you been?"

"I left a message, Dad," she defends herself.

"Where – Have – You – Been?"

"Lake Michigan," she stutters. He's never been like this.

"Who were you with?" he demands.

"Bender, a guy from school." She realizes this was a not such a good idea, going off with some guys her father has never heard of before.

"He's OK, Dad. Really. But I shouldn't have gone," she concedes. "Not when you don't know him."

"I am glad you see sense in this matter, young lady. You will understand why I have to ground you. You can't go gallivanting about with strange men with only a vague answering machine message."

Some part of her asks how he could possibly enforce such punishment when he comes home so late every night and works right through the weekend. But the dutiful part of her says she will obey even if it is the honor system. She deserves it, why did she think it was a good idea? Bender is OK, but her father has no way of knowing that.

* * *

She finally gets a good night's rest without those disturbing dreams just out of the reach of her waking mind. After her coffee, she wants to call Bender and tell him what happened. Then she realizes she doesn't have his number. Considering things, she probably doesn't want to call his house anyway, if what he said during detention about his home life was true. She looks up Dylan's number in the phone book instead. Miss Rose tells her Bender is in detention. Of course, she should have known. Allison leaves a message for him. Miss Rose doesn't seem to find it odd Allison calls Dylan to speak to Bender.

Thinking about things, she realizes Bender needs to come over to meet her father. If she wants to go to Lake Michigan again, if she wants to hang out at Dylan's house, if she wants to do any other madcap things they might think up. She thinks about it some more. Miss Rose would put his mind to rest. Of course Miss Rose would not come to her house to meet her father. But she expects Miss Rose wouldn't mind a visitor. She'd just lay another plate for dinner. Allison giggles at this idea, her father sitting down to eat at Miss Rose's table. But Miss Rose would be more reassuring than Bender. She has a hard time imagining Bender making a particularly good first impression. She can ask Bender about her father visiting Miss Rose.

She finds she is sure she'll be doing all kinds of crazy things with the guys. It was just Monday when she talked to Bender for the first time since detention. Yesterday she was angry he'd assumed she would be joining the group as a matter of course. But she likes them. They are nice to her and interesting. She realizes they are _friends_. She doesn't have much experience with friends. She likes it so far.

At 5:30 Bender calls. She can hear the little girls in the background shrieking and laughing, so he must be at Dylan's.

When she tells him the trouble she got into, he says "Oh, I forgot."

"You forgot what, Bender?"

"I forgot about your father."

That seems to be a weird thing to forget. She puts that aside for further thought. Right now she is concerned with what her father might think of Bender and the crew. She explains her idea of her father visiting Miss Rose. He is unexpectedly angry.

"You think I'm not good enough for your father?" All his old belligerence is back with a vengeance. She'd forgotten how mad he can get and how sensitive he is about snooty people.

She backpedals. Of course he is good enough. And she wants him to meet her father. She is sure her father would like him. (This is very hopeful on her part, she knows.) But she presents to him his clothing choices.

"Think about it Bender... Would _you_ want _your_ daughter seeing someone with motorcycle boots?"

He concedes the point. His boots would not do him justice. He still seems discontented, but Allison moves on.

"So do you think Miss Rose would mind meeting my dad?"

"No, she'd be delighted. She's got room in her house for anyone and everyone."

"I don't know when my father will ever find time, though. He is always working."

"Don't you get lonely stuck in that house with no one there?"

Suddenly her eyes are brimming. She tries to keep this out of her voice.

"Yeah, but you get used to it. I've got to go now."

* * *

Mr. Reynolds is home early, at 7. He decides they don't need to cook tonight and they pick up some pizza. Over their pepperoni slices, Allison starts preparing her father for the idea of meeting Miss Rose.

"They are really nice guys, Dad. They all hang out at Miss Rose's house and you can have no better recommendation than that."

"Now who is this Miss Rose?"

She explains Dylan, his mother, the guys. He listens attentively. He really does care about her, when he is here.

"So she takes in strays?"

She is not sure she likes that expression. Is she a stray too? "These are guys, Dad, not dogs."

"Nothing wrong with that, Allison. I knew someone like her when I was growing up. I expect this Miss Rose is as good as you say she is. I'd be delighted to meet her."

Allison is very pleased and it must show on her face.

"This doesn't mean you're not still grounded til next week, young lady. No matter how nice Miss Rose is, you were still out with strangers."

This reminder doesn't dim her pleasure.

"When can we visit?"

"Well now... They may be church-goers, so the morning is out. Why not tomorrow afternoon?"

It is with trepidation she waits for the meeting. It was her idea and she still thinks meeting Miss Rose is a good idea, but how awkward will it really be? Someone's father wandering into your house demanding a résumé? She decides a bit of warning is in order.

Dylan relays the message to his mother that she should expect visitors Sunday afternoon.

* * *

Allison and Mr. Reynolds knock on the door at 3 o'clock the next day. It takes a while for someone to answer as it seems no one ever knocks. Miss Rose has made some lemonade and put a table cloth on the small kitchen table. Introductions are made and Mr. Reynolds is offered a seat. No one else is though. The kids get the hint and go out on the front porch. Allison is glad her father is a good cook, as they evidently have a lot to say on the subject. They are exchanging ideas on using beef tips for stroganoff as Mr. Reynolds returns to the porch.

In the car, Mr. Reynolds says "I give you my blessing. Miss Rose is a fine woman."

To Allison's surprise, he doesn't open his briefcase when they get home. He challenges her to a game of scrabble instead. After being soundly beaten he does go back to his paperwork. She completes her homework in a good mood.


	5. Expect the Unexpected

**Chapter Five**

**Expect the Unexpected**

The next few weeks pass quite happily. Her father seems to be home a bit earlier in the evenings and she visits Dylan's house every couple of days. She no longer feels the crushing loneliness that drove her to tears at the breakfast club. She is amused when her father gives her a brochure from planned parenthood and makes an appointment for her to see a gynecologist. He's trying. But she doesn't know who he expects her to need contraception for. Maybe he is just being on the safe side.

* * *

One Saturday Dylan, Bender and Allison are sitting on the porch swing at Dylan's house. Cody hasn't been around as much these days. He's been hanging out with some guys that go into Chicago every weekend for parties. Parties they are not invited to. Allison is happy in Shermer so she feels no pangs of envy. Bender and Dylan seem to feel the same way. But she does miss his sense of humor. No more of his ridiculous stories. Now, when he is around, he talks about drinking and partying.

Today he shows up unexpectedly. They've become used to his absence on the weekends. He seems weird, shifting from foot to foot, scratching his arms. He can't sit still. He looks unhappy too. He asks Bender to borrow some money. That's not unusual, the three of them often scrape their money together for this and that, and lend a bit on occasion. What's different is that Dylan and Bender say no although she knows they both have extra right now. Cody leaves pretty quickly after that.

"Did you see how big his pupils were?" Bender is asking Dylan.

"He sure was twitchy," is Dylan's response.

They both look sad and pissed off at the same time.

"What are you guys talking about?" Allison knows she is missing something.

"He's a tweaker," Dylan says.

"He wanted some money for crank." Bender looks very sad.

"I don't understand." She is still mystified.

Bender puts his arm around her gently.

"Drugs, honey. He's on speed." He seems even sadder now.

She had noticed Cody drank more than the rest of them, seemed more eager to burn one than the others. Looking back, it seems he was always interested in getting more than the mild buzz the other two enjoyed.

"Well, what are we going to do?"

Bender gives her a squeeze and says, "There's nothing we can do, Al."

She has a sickening sensation of falling. The bottom has come out from under her world. Surely there is something they can do.

"Let's talk to him, he'll see we're right."

"He might see we're right, but he's all in now, to be scratching his arms like that. That means he is addicted," Dylan says, just as sad as Bender.

"Al, there's nothing we can do," Bender repeats.

She jumps up. "How do you know? You can't even try? We can't not talk to him!"

Bender and Dylan exchange looks.

"We can try, but don't expect anything hon. Just let me and Dylan do the talking." Bender is pushing himself up off the swing. "Let's go."

Allison leads the way, brisk and determined. This is Cody, he'll see reason, she tells herself. The guys will explain what to do, and Cody will want their help. He has to.

Whereas Dylan's neighborhood is a bit run down, Cody's is a wreck. Muddy yards, broken down cars, trash drifted against fences. They knock on the door of a decrepit duplex. Cody eventually opens the door. He doesn't invite them in. Bender and Dylan exchange looks. Dylan shrugs his shoulders.

"Cody, man, you're a mess," Bender starts. "Those people don't give a shit about you."

"You've got a problem, buddy. We can help," Dylan continues.

"That's right! You don't have to do drugs!" Allison can't contain herself.

Cody looks hopeless at what the guys have to say, but he gets pissed when Allison speaks.

"What the fuck do you know, Miss Priss. You've got your head so far up your ass you don't even know what Bender's after. Don't tell me how to run my life."

To Dylan and Bender, "Why the hell did you bring HER here? Everything was fine before she came along. You both are wusses, trailing around after some bitch. Everything was fine," he repeats. He's on the verge of tears but in a rage.

"You know it wasn't," Bender says. "C'mon man, you're hurting. Let us help you."

Allison is shocked as Dylan leads her away.

"I don't need your fucking help!" He slams the door so hard the panes rattle.

It is a subdued walk back to Dylan's. Bender puts his arm around her again. "I'm sorry Al. We tried. He knows where to find us if he wants help."

"Bender, am I a bitch? What did I do? What did he mean about you?"

Dylan says, "Don't listen to him. He wasn't making sense."

"He just wanted to blame someone and you were it," Bender says sadly.

* * *

Summer comes. Allison's father wants her to do something productive with her time and says she must get a job or take some classes. He suggests Terrence's art school. She vetoes that quickly and finally decides to work at the coffee shop in downtown Shermer and take Tae Kwando classes.

Being a jack of all trades, Bender knows some martial arts. Most especially he knows how to fall without hurting himself. Which means Allison can practice her throws on him to her hearts content.

His other, less surprising talent is mechanics. Those hours in shop class paid off and he's gotten a job at Rick's Torque Converters, located just two blocks from Allison's coffee shop.

Tonight Bender and Allison get off work at the same time.

"Let's go to Dylan's," Allison suggests.

"Dylan won't be around. He's gonna be out tonight, with Amber." Amber is his new girlfriend.

"Oh." Oddly, she feels terribly disappointed. "Amber can't come home with him?"

"Dylan isn't going to stay at home the rest of his life."

Bender tries to cheer her up and suggests Chinese for dinner.

"We can bring it over to your place."

They've been hanging out at Allison's recently, when Dylan is out with his girlfriend.

Bender seems especially cheerful tonight and it is contagious. He is attempting to master chopsticks, and after weeks of trying he still can't manage vegetables. No one can say he isn't persistent. Chasing a snow pea around, he refuses the fork Allison taunts him with. Finally he pierces the snow pea with a chopstick, which really is cheating, but he escapes the ignominy of the fork. They open their fortune cookies. Bender's is inscribed, "You will find your heart's desire." Allison's is more good advice than a fortune: "Expect the unexpected." These fortunes make Bender unaccountably happy.

After dinner, Bender begs to have Allison try out some of her moves from class. She tries one especially good throw Bender can't seem to counter. Being stubborn, he still hopes to resist Allison's impossible throw. He insists on one more try. With a twist, she throws him again, but this time he does something with his foot, hooking it around her ankle, and pulls on her forearm. It is her turn to tumble to the ground. Or, rather, on top of him.

"You knew that this whole time!"

"I did. But you need practice more than I do."

She rolls off of him, but he rolls with her, and somehow she has her arms around him and they are eye to eye. He gives her a single soft kiss, looks at her. He kisses her again. Then she is kissing him back, slow and deep. Moments later, they hear Mr. Reynolds' car in the driveway. Allison guiltily jumps up, but Bender takes his time. Allison is helping him from the floor as Mr. Reynolds comes through the front door and pokes his head in the den. Bender has a rueful look on his face.

"You're a better man than I, letting Allison practice on you."

Mr. Reynolds goes upstairs. Bender gives her a hearty kiss, wrapping his arms around her.

"Bender... how long have you wanted to do this?"

"Since you punched me. I love a strong woman."

"Since I punched you under the bleachers? You waited a long time. Why..."

They hear Mr. Reynolds on the stairs, coming down again."You and I will finish this conversation later, young lady," Bender says as he kisses her once more and lets her go.

* * *

Later, after they've watched their Blockbuster video, Allison returns to the topic Mr. Reynolds had interrupted.

"Bender... You were saying something before my dad came in..."

"I believe we left off here," he says as he nuzzles her neck. Laughing, she wiggles away.

"No, seriously... you were saying you had been waiting since that first day when I told you-" She looks uncomfortable, continues "Since I told you about Terrence?"

"Well, not exactly. Really, since you punched me. I knew you were my kind of woman, after that."

"So why did you wait so long?"

"Honey, you were a mess, jumping at shadows, wound so tight I thought you might break. You needed a friend." He is quite serious now and looks into her eyes. "I know. I've been there. Sometimes a person just needs a friend. You were worth waiting for."

Their kiss is interrupted by Allison's father looking for his reading glasses. Bender laughs and pulls Allison closer and gives her several loud smacking kisses as she giggles and tries to push him away.

"Mr. Reynolds, this is one fine young lady you have here. I think I'll keep her."

She is blushing furiously, but gives up pushing him away, settles in under his arm.

"Well, John, you have my consent," Mr. Reynolds says seriously. "She'd throw me if I refused." He leaves the room, reading glasses in hand.

"Did your father just make a joke?"

"I think he did."

* * *

"Bender, why do you never mention home?" Allison is cuddled up next to him in the den a few days later.

"There's not much to say. My old man is an asshole, but he figured things out last year."

"Figured what out?" she asks.

"I'm about the same size as he is now."

"You mean he doesn't hit you anymore?"

"He never did that much anyway, only when he was drunk," he says, looking uncomfortable.

"And your mother?"

His face gets hard. "Yeah, he never hits her anymore either, but it is her choice to stay there. She could have left long ago." He leans forward and looks at his boots for a while, his hair obscuring his face.

"Dylan's mom wanted to adopt me. When I was 11. But they could never catch him red-handed and she protected him. Ma protected him. So I'm not too twisted up about what will happen when I leave."

"When you leave?"

"I'll be 18 soon. I'm not staying one day longer than I have to. Miss Rose will let me stay with them until I get my own place. We talked about this a while ago."

"But you haven't finished school yet. You'll be a senior next year, like me."

"Well, honey, Vernon has seen the last of me in his detention. I'm getting a GED. I start community college classes in the fall. They held me back in second grade, that's why I am older than you. Miss Rose talked me into waiting until I was 18 to drop out and get my GED. I wanted to when I was 16, but she thought I should stay in school and try to enjoy being young, not grow up too fast."

He looks down at her. "I'm really glad I stayed."


	6. Allison's Portrait

**Chapter Six**

**Allison's Portrait**

Tuesday. It is midday when Bender comes over. They both have the day off. On such a hot day, it is pleasant in Allison's air conditioned house. The glowing green and gold garden beyond the sliding glass doors is a bright contrast to the dim coolness of the Reynolds' den. The radio is tuned to the college station, playing the Smiths. They have slid into a recumbent position on the suede sofa. Bender's large, gentle hands are stroking Allison as they kiss. Her body is moving against his, a tide of pleasure rising. His hand dips down from her hip to her waist, slips under her shirt. Suddenly the warm flow of touch is broken. She bolts off the couch in one leap, looking down at him with horror. Then she collapses onto the floor, in anguish, clinging to his leg as he quickly regains a sitting position.

"Al, Al, what is it? What's wrong?"

He slides onto the floor and she is crushing his shirt in her fists, sobbing.

"It was him," she is burrowing into his chest. "It was Terrence. Suddenly it wasn't you, it was Terrence touching me."

"It's me now." He is cradling her in his lap.

"I hate him, how could he do this to me? Why? Why can he still hurt me?"

"Allison, you have to tell someone. You need to see him brought to justice. I was there, I can testify. What happened was real. Ally, you need to tell your dad."

Shame is flooding her, she doesn't want anyone to know, she doesn't want to think about it, she wants it to all go away.

He's very firm now. "Ally, you have to tell."

"No one will believe me."

"Allison, do you know what a big shot your father is? He is the Chief Administrator of the University medical school. When he talks, people listen. That's why he is always working so hard. Terrence made a mistake, messing with Allison Reynolds. Your father can do something. C'mon Ally, you have to tell him."

She is crouched up into his lap, hiding her face in his chest with his arms around her.

"OK." It is the tiniest whisper.

* * *

Mr. Reynolds seems to understand that Allison needs Bender's physical presence. He doesn't ask the question she's been dreading- Why now? He just takes everything in, her whole story. Then he asks Bender some questions about what he witnessed.

"I'm calling Mr. Standish." He says this resolutely. Both of them are puzzled. What does Claire's father have to do with this?

Seeing their confusion, he explains, "Mr. Standish works for the State Attorney's Office. We were classmates at the University. His wife and Allison's mother are close friends."

Bender hugs her tighter and says, "He made a really big mistake, Al. Terrence made a big mistake."

* * *

"It's up to you Allison. We have a strong case with John's testimony. From a legal standpoint it is moot whether it was consensual as you are below the age of consent. All we have to do is prove he was there. We can place him there unequivocally. You can see justice done. But going to trial can be grueling. If it is too much, if you don't want to go through the whole process, we can make sure he never works again." Mr. Standish is calm and reassuring.

Allison looks to Bender. He gives her an encouraging look, gestures with his chin. "It's whatever you need. I'll be here." He gives her hand a squeeze.

"No, I don't want to go to court." She is relieved. The idea of telling her story over and over is too much. She knows he will not be a teacher and will not touch girls again. That is enough.

But she adds, "Make sure he knows it was me."

* * *

Among the art crowd in the Chicago gallery, Bender is standing next to Mr. Reynolds, holding a glass of red wine with a dubious look on his face. He was talked into wearing a real shirt rather than a cut off flannel over a thermal undershirt, but he clung to his boots; he refused to clean them or even remove the red bandana.

"People LIKE drinking this?"

Allison hushes him as Mr. Standish approaches with Claire in tow. Mr. Standish and Mr. Reynolds shake hands and Allison politely receives congratulations on her painting. Claire is trying to appear as if she isn't looking at Bender while he gives her one of his patented Bender come-hither smiles. Allison discretely elbows him. He desists, but with a devilish grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Behind the small group, track lighting illuminates a canvass filled with a pale face and swirling black hair. Allison's portrait has been resurrected from the far corner of her bedroom and now proudly takes its place in Gallery Navet.


End file.
